


Death and his Maiden

by Elywyngirlie



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Death and the Maiden Inspired, F/M, Gen, Kylo is Death, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elywyngirlie/pseuds/Elywyngirlie
Summary: He had seen many forms and many lives in his time. He supposed he would be considered an aesthete but he found the world too remote for pure pleasure. He hadn't found anything pleasurable in the world for eons.Until he met her.Rey.





	Death and his Maiden

He had seen many forms and many lives in his time. He supposed he would be considered an aesthete but he found the world too remote for pure pleasure. He didn’t find anything special with the way snowflakes layered delicately on the windowpane. Or the sharp freshness in the smell of crushed pine needles. The staccato of water dripping in a cave. The pale green flush of the oncoming spring or the curl of steam rising from a cup of hot tea. 

But he enjoyed them. 

One simply had to find his pleasure where one could. 

He no longer delighted in that particular burnt smell, something faintly electrical, when his scythe sliced through the skin, screams smeared on the air. It was boring, uninteresting, fairly mundane now. Oh, he found it clever when bodies were arranged as a tableau. It gave him a momentary amusement, a quirk of lips upward, but it all faded away as he had to collect the soul. 

He was death, he was God’s command on wings, and he collected millions, faces blurring into nothingness. 

Until all he could see was the end hovering at the edges, winter blooming in every blush on every girl’s cheek, on every boy’s eager features. A brief dazzle in bright eyes that would grow milky white. Graceful movements that would become a mere shuffle into his waiting arms. 

He had stopped finding pleasure in people a millennia ago, or so he thought. Time moved differently for him, a collection of moments, no longer a straight line, despite the paths through hidden worlds that he trod. Their souls all begged for relief or a reprieve, just one more day. The begging failed to move him. 

He tore through the world, leaving nothing but grief behind. 

Until her. 

He had come for the man, flabby and sweat stained. He had seen the man before when he passed through the town previously and was vaguely aware that his time would be soon. A heart attack on legs. A ticking time bomb whose days were dwinding down rapidly with every greedy swallow of beer. 

He had been expecting tears, recriminations. The veil was pierced in brief moments like this, the moments when he and his knights appeared.  He was used to children seeing him. She hovered on the line between the two, not quite a woman, but no longer a simple girl. There was knowledge on that gamine face, a recognition of the winter in the world. 

She sat on the rickety chair with mismatched legs, staring at the body as if in pain. The veil parted and she gasped as she saw him. An imposing figure in black robes--foreboding, unwelcoming, chilling. The temperature dropped at his very presence. 

“Who are you?” she asked, voice clear of suffering. He cocked his head. He could not decipher the look on her face. 

“I am Death,” with a spread of his hands. She frowned, a faint line between her brows. 

“I thought you’d be older,” was her weary reply. She jerked her chin toward the body between them. “Does he even have a soul to take?”

“All humankind does, despite their actions,” he replied bemusedly. “Do you not weep at his passing? Do you wish to bargain me for his life?” A fierce shake of her head and a stubborn set of her jaw. He wondered if she was experiencing shock or post-traumatic stress disorder (that new term separated it from what it really was, a recognizing of how fragile the world really was, how thin the mask was between everything--he had confided this to a young doctor just before he tugged his soul away) 

“I wonder what comes next,” she said tiredly. 

“He will be judged,” was Death’s sedate reply. She shrugged and waved her hand at him. His brows shot upward. A mere girl dismissing him? 

“Not to him. To me,” she clarified.  She hunched over, shoulders tight together. “I was eighteen in ten days. Why couldn’t the asshole wait?” She looked up at him, a wry smile on her lips. “I’m sure this is trivial to you.”

“Your life is but a fraction of mine,” he agreed, his voice rumbling through the room. He was aware that he was staying too long. 

“Well, thanks for listening, Death. I’m sure I’ll find a solution.” Determination was home on that tan skin, energy in her curled frame, coiled, waiting for direction. An arrow in a taut bow, he thought.  _ What happens if I choose the direction in which it is released?  _ The thought was dangerous and new to him. 

He hadn’t experienced a new sensation in a long time. 

“I am Kylo,” he said courteously. “I am one of Death’s reapers. We are legion.” 

“You mean one man can’t do this alone?”

“And Santa Claus can’t visit all the homes in one night either.”

“Good thing I’m Jewish then,” was her retort with her slight sniff and a wink. He found his amusement growing. He had forgotten the feeling and it crept along his skin, like limbs shaking from a long slumber.

“There is a woman next town over. Maz Kanata. She is looking for help. She won’t care about your age.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to help her. Perhaps as a gift for bringing him such a heady feeling, a sense of being alive, after a period of silent wandering in the world, seeing but never experiencing. 

She smiled bitterly. “It’s social services that I care most about.” Kylo shrugged. 

“He has no family and no one will come looking until the checks don’t clear.” His matter of fact response sent her reeling. He could see the shock in the widening of her eyes, the rapid blinks, the quick movement of her throat. He saw her tamp it down and thought he would be sad when she was marked for collection. He hoped he would be the one to gather her soul. It would be a lively one. 

“Won’t the police come looking?” she ventured and Kylo smiled, cold and dark, a shark’s mouth, full of hunger and promise. 

“Once they see what is on his computer, I’m doubt they will.” His reply dropped the room another ten degrees and he could see her breath as a soft cloud with each exhale. She shivered, small hands rubbing her arms. He turned his attention to the body on the bed, greasy and wore out. The soul was a smudge within, aching to escape. He held his hand out and whispered the Words. With a cry of gratitude, it slipped free of its corporeal bonds and slipped through him. Death was merely a gateway to the world beyond, given human form. 

He turned his attention to her again. A broken teacup, piecing herself back together. He always admired kintsugi. 

“Rey,” she suddenly spoke. “My name is Rey.” He inclined his head. She stood up quickly, digging her palms onto her thighs. She gave a hollow laugh. 

“I’ll see you soon, I imagine,” she whispered, fear and wonder warring. 

“One day,” he answered. “But you have many days left. Enjoy them, Rey.” And he vanished into his world. 

 

 

He remembered that encounter as he continued through the world, collecting souls and ushering them into the world beyond. Everything else seemed to pale next to that fearless woman, that slip of a girl, with the quick reply for everything. 

As Death, he not only pulled the souls through him but a part of him, a fractured bit of him, greeted them at the gateway of their choosing. It depended on their beliefs. For some, it was  vast nothingness. For others, it was pearly gates or doorways or gardens or beaches. He helped them realize what had occurred and what steps to take next, often handing out bland assurances about their friends or families. 

Since he met her, he remembered how to have a gentle smile. It has hard not to put menace behind that stretch of lips. But Rey’s brightness, quick mind, wry wit--they softened his greeting. It made the transitions easier. 

She helped bring color into the world and he hoped very much that he would be the one to usher her along when her time came.

 

 

He encountered her again far sooner than he expected. 

She was fighting her way through a gang of men, intent on more than a mugging. She was vicious, she was grace with a staff, she was a warrior on the field, same as the earth saw eons ago when people were still young and had not figured out how to kill efficiently. He took pleasure in the triumphant look on her face, especially when he stepped through the veil.  

“You are bleeding,” he greeted as he stared at the broken bodies. They did not have much time left and he sped it up with a wave of his hand. He did not want to deal with their groans and pleas while he was with the girl. 

“It’s nothing,” she shot back, despite the obvious odd angle of her arm. He approached her, his arms reaching for her, and she scrambled back.

“Why should I die?” she demanded. 

“Not today. I merely wish to adjust your shoulder.” 

“Your touch is death,” she hissed. 

Kylo grinned, flitting and bright, and she froze. It was like a winter sunset, warm and full of promise, on his solemn face. 

“My touch will not kill you unless I speak the Words. You shall be safe.” It was a vow. She took it. He popped her shoulder back into its socket and she bit back a scream. Her courage was a lioness, all claws, teeth bared, strength vibrating beneath his hand. 

He hadn’t wanted a human in a long time. 

He withdrew. 

“You are like a flower blossoming along the weeds,” he murmured. 

“Weeds will kill a flower. Eventually. If not cut down.”  He could see her potential, brewing inside of her. A power, a type of cunning matched with stupid bravery. A cynicism that sat hard on her young features. 

It had been a long time since he had a student. He was going to choose the path that this arrow flew. 

“Oh beautiful and tender form,” he murmured. She raised a brow. 

“Poetry?” It was a guess, hazarded close to midnight. He knew if he were to strike the time must be now, when the veil was the thinnest. But he needed the strength. He surveyed the bodies of the men and whispered the Words, shivering as the souls flowed through him. He sipped at their souls, harboring their strength. He seemed to loom larger, his shoulders grow broader, his voice deeper.

“You need a teacher,” he rumbled. She laughed, mocking him. 

“What can death teach me?” 

He leaned closer to her, the breath of the tombs skirting along her skin, turning that golden hue grey. 

“Everything.” 

He drew back and held out his hand. 

“I am your friend and I come not to punish, only to offer.” She scoffed, spurned, and turned away. 

“What will you show me?”

“There is no place for you here. Only struggles in your future. Scavenging, scrapping, holding together multiple jobs as you work your way through college. Graduating at twenty four, then completing your advanced degrees at thirty. All with the bare minimum necessary, a Goodwill aficionado. Until you are forty three, struggling with school loans, even though you are one of the brightest women in your field. You are struck by a bus. You leave behind no spouse and no children. Your colleagues mourn you and your name is all but forgotten outside of a footnote in a textbook. This is what your future holds. You are a nobody.” Her shoulders hunched again and he knew the words he rained down were her secret fears, dark and shameful. He knew it and he pummeled them into her, mercilessly. 

He had forgotten mercy. Despite that what he was offering her was a form of mercy. 

“I am offering you something else.” His hand did not waver. She slowly turned and eyed his gloved palm. She chewed on her bottom lip. He did not like the glimmer in her eyes, the slight ticks of her mouth that indicated that she was swallowing her tears. 

“Will it hurt?” Her words were barely heard. 

“No.” He thought back to his youth, to his training. He smiled, a first flush of spring. “You won’t be alone anymore.” 

She slipped her palm into his. 

“Neither will you.” 

The clock struck midnight and the veil closed, Death strolling along hidden pathways with his maiden. 

The following morning, the police discovered the body of a young woman near three broken male bodies. Inquiries pending. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Kylo is speaking lines from Death and the Maiden (Der Tod und das Madchen) by Schubert 
> 
> The Maiden:  
> Pass me by! Oh, pass me by!  
> Go, fierce man of bones!  
> I am still young! Go, rather,  
> And do not touch me.  
> And do not touch me.
> 
> Death:  
> Give me your hand, you beautiful and tender form!  
> I am a friend, and come not to punish.  
> Be of good cheer! I am not fierce,  
> Softly shall you sleep in my arms!


End file.
